


Front Row

by introductory



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Awkward Roommate Situations, Canon Character of Color, M/M, Unintentional Voyeurism, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-02
Updated: 2011-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-23 08:52:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/248485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/introductory/pseuds/introductory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>To his credit, Alex is being pretty quiet about it, and if Darwin hadn't already been awake, he wouldn't have even known it was happening.</i>
</p><p>Alex isn't exactly a bad roommate, but he's got one habit that Darwin would really like to change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Front Row

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://xmen-firstkink.livejournal.com/2439.html?thread=3327879#t3327879) on xmen_firstkink, and the _voyeurism_ square on Kink Bingo.

Darwin gets it. He really does. He was eighteen once, trying to fill out college applications when all he could think about was sex, getting so turned on by a two-second glimpse of cleavage he could barely see straight. Hormones are uncontrollable, unavoidable, and not your fault—you just have to take care of it quietly, as soon as you can, and no one ever has to be the wiser.

But. The point is to take care of it _in private_.

And lying in a bed three feet away from where Darwin's trying very hard to pretend to be asleep is most decidedly _not_.

To his credit, Alex is being pretty quiet about it, and if Darwin hadn't already been awake, he wouldn't have even known it was happening. Alex never does any of that ridiculous manly grunting stuff, like he's trying to wrestle an alligator, and he never—thank god—actually _speaks_. This is already pushing the limits of Darwin's cool; if Alex was lying there crying out the names of ex-girlfriends, then Darwin would _really_ have to do something about it.

This hadn't been an issue during the four days Darwin had shared a room with Hank, before Alex and Sean had decided their sleeping habits were irreconcilable and asked Charles to arrange a switch. Maybe Hank had taken care of it the same way Darwin did—in the showers, with soap and, if you timed it right, privacy—but then again, he doesn't really want to think about Hank's masturbatory habits, either. Maybe he's getting it on with Raven—good for him, she's sharp and pretty and if Darwin were into girls, he'd probably be into Raven, too.

Alex chooses that time to let out a whoosh of breath, and Darwin can barely keep from groaning in embarrassment.

He cracks his eyes open a sliver to check the time: It's two in the morning and if he wants to be at all rested for tomorrow, he had better get back to sleep now. He closes his eyes again and by god, he _tries_. But the sheets on Alex's bed keep rustling, and eventually Darwin just rolls over onto his back: there'll be no sleeping until Alex is finished, and from the sounds of it—and how wrong is it that Darwin can tell?—he's nowhere near close.

Darwin hums the loudest song he can think of in his head, trying to drown out the sounds, but his stubborn ears refuse to seal themselves over and the noises still reach him anyway. The sharp inhale-exhale through Alex's nose, the brush of forearm against sheet. No slick slap, though: Alex always does it dry, and Darwin can't help thinking it must be uncomfortable like that, too much friction and not enough glide. It would feel a lot better with lotion, or a palmful of spit, he thinks, or Darwin's own mouth—

Well, _shit_.

Darwin's rock-hard and he didn't even notice till now, and he'd be lying if he'd never thought about Alex that way. Always in passing, though, never anything serious, just idle thoughts about kissing Alex's mouth after a game of pinball, about putting a hand on the back of his neck and stroking the pale skin there with his thumb. Thoughts about other things, too, if he's honest with himself—but Darwin's got a good six years on Alex, and considering Alex's been in prison for the last three, who knows if Alex has ever even been _kissed?_

Alex might be legal, but it doesn't make Darwin feel any less guilty for wanting to screw him. And now _this_ —it's clearly the universe's way of screwing with _him_ , putting something so tempting within arm's reach.

He really shouldn't be fantasizing. He _isn't_ fantasizing, he tells himself. He's just—theorizing.

It would have to be Alex who made the first move. Darwin doesn't know all of Alex's issues—he's _definitely_ got serious issues—and he seems like one of those guys who doesn't like being touched without permission, so: Alex's move. Let him decide when it's time, and then Darwin would take care of the rest. He'd kiss Alex until he was breathless and panting, making the exact same noises he's making now, and he'd take it just as slow or as fast as Alex needed him to— _adapt or else_ —and he'd enjoy the look of his skin against Alex's, like rich coffee and sweet cream.

Darwin doesn't let himself think too much about the details, because he's sure he'd go off at the barest hair-trigger touch, and he knows for a fact it's something he won't be able to hide. He settles for trying to control his breathing, focusing on the rise and fall of his own chest as Alex heaves quiet gulps of air, his hand working frantically under the sheets. _Come on,_ Darwin thinks, _come on, baby, just a little more, you're almost there—_

Alex comes, gasping weakly for half a minute before remembering to close his mouth, drawing in labored breaths through his nose. Darwin hears Alex's hand fall away under the covers, and then he goes completely still, forcing himself to calm down. He hasn't even cleaned himself up; always just falls asleep like that, and it has to be uncomfortable in the mornings.

When Alex's breathing starts to even out, Darwin lets himself relax muscles he hadn't known he'd been tensing. He turns over onto his stomach, trapping his own hardness against the bed; it's a little painful, but there's no way in hell he's going to jerk off to thoughts of his eighteen-year-old roommate jerking off. He's pretty sure he's gotten away with it, too; he allows himself a small moment of guilty satisfaction, congratulating himself on not making this a worse mess than it already is.

Then Alex says, so quietly he can barely hear it, "Armando?"

His voice is cracked at the edges, sounding half like an apology and half like reproach, and Darwin freezes up completely. What the hell are you supposed to do in a situation like this? Faking sleep obviously won't work at this point; Darwin counts to three, and goes for it.

"Alex," he says, cautious. "You, uh—everything okay?"

Alex shuffles around in his bed for a minute or two. "Yeah," he finally mumbles. "Sorry about that. Didn't know you were up."

It's the most surreal conversation Darwin's had in ages, and just this afternoon he was imploring Angel to drip acid onto his arm. "Don't worry about it," he responds, already thinking about how awkward this is going to be tomorrow. He can probably play it cool, or at least cool enough that no one besides Charles would be able to pick up on it, but he doesn't know if Alex can, or if he's going to keep his distance from now on. Are they going to have to switch up rooms again, or are they just going to pretend this never happened and try to get on with saving the world?

Alex answers the question for him, though—there's the space of two footsteps and then Alex's knee is edging its way onto Darwin's bed, Alex's hand is questing blindly for Darwin's chest. Darwin catches it before Alex can sock him in the jaw, and holds on tight.

" _I'm_ not worrying about it," says Alex, other hand already slipping beneath the blankets. "Are you?"

Darwin yanks him down for a kiss, and Alex tastes like sleep and toothpaste and a thousand stupid, impulsive decisions made in the middle of the night. "Nah, it's cool," he says, and pulls Alex down by the wrist.


End file.
